Ain't Youth Meant To Be Beautiful?
by HalcyonSeasons
Summary: In the midst of more procrastinating, I've come up with another random one-shot, which showcases an out-of-character (or is she?) Bella Swan whose narcissism is raging uncontrollably and shamelessly. What's the point in being sorry about who you are or who you pretend to be? Here's to being the worst, but acting like the best.


**Author's Note: **_I've been listening to a lot of music. Really. I'm accentuating the "Music" part of my penname the most I can. I'm still procrastinating hard (does anyone have tips for that? I need them), and I've managed to sprout a very unapologetic, out-of-character one-shot from the perspective of Bella Swan. With the music I've been listening to, I've been feeling super, super, super, super (!) narcissistic even though I haven't done anything to prove it. I really have been feeling that way. We all have a bit of narcissism in us, anyway, though. I think it's natural. So, I put that down into words. This one-shot doesn't particularly go with anything else I've written, and it's not exactly the most humble thing, but here it is. Here's to being the worst but acting like the best, just way more exaggerated._

* * *

**_Ain't Youth Meant To Be Beautiful?_**

* * *

_I wish I wasn't such a narcissist / I wish I didn't really kiss the mirror when I'm on my own _

_oh god! I'm gonna die alone_

_Marina and the Diamonds, "Teen Idle"_

* * *

_x_

There is never a state of limbo for my identity.

I am never _nobody_ when I'm not _me_, whoever that is. I am merely just somebody else. Nothing more, nothing less. I've learned to live with different identities, to make like easier. There's something about feeling like I'm the worst that ends up pushing me to the point of acting like I'm the best. When I act like I'm the best, I walk to my own beat. I talk like whatever comes out of my mouth is justifiable. I think shamelessly which leads to that all coming out of my mouth. I'm invincible and I am also fearless.

I am Bella Swan. That's the name I write on my essays and sheets of math problems. I go by Bella with my "friends." My father calls me Bella, too.

I am Isabella Marie Swan with my mother, or when I get into trouble. I'm always depended on to get in trouble. It's typical. I'm also Isabella when I'm with Edward. He keeps me anchored to him. He acts like he's my father, but it never gets to me.

With Jacob, I'm just Bells. One syllable, one word, five letters. Simple and sweet. If only I could be anything but.

I gain personality after personality. I live in a fantasy. Real life is a bore. Everyday is merely a chore. Without excitement, life is lethargic and tiring. It's sad. It's annoying. It's picking at my youth, taking pieces and pieces off, draining me. I can't lose my youth now. Only God knows who I'd be without it.

My youth is my freedom. I would sound like a spitting image of Rosalie, only she doesn't embrace what she has. She's scared of it. If I was in her place, I would be embracing my youth every single day instead of hiding from it, wishing to be able to age. Nobody can take my dwindling youth away from me. Not even myself. I love my youth. It's even easy to admit that I love myself. Why should I lie, when I can act? Acting isn't lying; those are two completely different things. I love myself. That's not lying. Or maybe it is. Maybe I hate myself so much that I love myself. Either way, I find zero shame in kissing the mirror when I'm alone. I'm going to die alone, too, I bet, kissing my reflection, but isn't it better to die with the beautiful monster you know than the puppeteer you don't? That's all I am to Edward, anyway. A puppet. _Isabella, this is what you need. Isabella, don't you want this?_ He tugs at my invisible strings and pulls me around an invisible, bounded circuit.

I don't want any of it. Edward doesn't understand me. Nobody does. I don't want anybody to.

I have myself; I don't need anybody else. I am not a puppet. I am not a machine or a robot or a computer. I am a human being. A narcissistic one, but very much human. I aim for success. It keeps me running. Without success, I am nothing.

And you know something? Being successful isn't about not having issues. Being successful is about taking the issues, putting them behind you, and forcing a smile.

I wish I could master that art.

I don't need money. I don't need fast cars. I don't need Edward, or Jacob, or Charlie, or Angela. All I need is myself. And what do I do with myself when I act like I'm the best?

I live with it.

Maybe I'm just overhyping myself. Everybody overhypes me already, but now that I actually do it to myself, I can't help it. I can't stop. I can't _not_ kiss the mirror every morning when I get ready for school. I can't _not_ spend hours and hours trying to get ready for an outing. I shouldn't have to try so hard to be the best, though; I'll be there when I'm immortal. It's all I need Edward for, anyway. He's merely a toy and I'm not afraid to admit it.

I'm glad he can't read my mind. My mind is the one thing of mine that Edward has no control over. That's all he aims for: power and control. Guys like him are terrible. Guys like Edward are the exact kind of guys that my mother warned me about. Too late, I guess.

I can't trust Edward. I don't know why I used to. I can't really trust anybody. Why should I have to? Why should I have to depend on anybody? I have myself and my many identities. That's all I need. That's all I want.

I'm going to die alone for this. I just know it. Youth is meant to be beautiful, though. _I_ am meant to be beautiful. My last name is Swan; why shouldn't I live up to it? Inner beauty never counts, as much as other teenage girls crying about their unattractiveness are told by their mothers. Everybody judges the outside. It's impossible for anyone not to. Nobody can peer into my soul, and I don't _want_ anybody to peer into my soul. It's not worth it. When I feel bad, I move on to a different identity, try to gain a different soul. It's not that hard.

States of limbo never exist for me. The day I fail or never find a place for me will be the day that I die.

I'm willing to take that chance.

There's nothing wrong with wanting to feel beautiful, is there?

_x_


End file.
